To My Mother by Eugene Field

HOW fair you are, my mother! / Ah, though 't is many a year / Since you were here, / Still do I see your beauteous face, / And with the glow / Of your dark eyes cometh a grace / Of long ago.

So gentle, too, my mother! / Just as of old, upon my brow, / Like benedictions now, / Falleth your dear hand's touch; / And still, as then, / A voice that glads me over-much / Cometh again, / My fair and gentle mother!

How you have loved me, mother, / I have not power to tell, / Knowing full well / That even in the rest above / It is your will / To watch and guard me with your love, / Loving me still.

And, as of old, my mother, / I am content to be a child, / By mother's love beguiled / From all these other charms; / So to the last / Within thy dear, protecting arms / Hold thou me fast, / My guardian angel, mother!